


trying to put it into words

by bonafake



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Body Shots, College Sports, Curtain Fic, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Small fires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 11:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonafake/pseuds/bonafake
Summary: Renee places her chin on her shoulder. Blue hair brushing her cheek. “Kids these days,” she says.Allison laughs. The smoke isn't stopping.





	trying to put it into words

**Author's Note:**

> this ship??? is just the best ship??? and tbh, i have no idea why there are not absolutely a million things written about the two of them. the title of this is from you are in love by taylor swift, because if i can’t title my most basic works with sappy love song lyrics, then what can i do.
> 
> all for the game belongs to nora sakavic - also known as not-me.
> 
> notes: allison reynolds/renee walker, minor/implied relationships - dan wilds/matt boyd, andrew minyard/neil josten, domesticity, implied sexual content, really bad dnce remixes, implied underage drinking, body shots, college sports, berry picking, curtain-fic sans curtains.

The smoke detector shrieks.

Allison rolls over in bed, dragging various appendages into a tussle with the sheets. Groans. She pulls her legs out from where they’re tangled in the covers, then pushes herself up so she’s sitting against the bedframe.

The bedroom looks like the monsters drove a truck through it. Everything smells like vodka, Matt’s dollar-store shampoo.

She pulls herself to her feet. Stumbles to the door and fiddles with the doorknob until it falls open. The hallway is filled with smoke.

“What the-” she says. Coughs. “What the fuck is-”

“It’s okay,” Neil shouts from the kitchen. “It’s just the toaster.” There’s a commotion in the other room, Nicky running with the fire extinguisher and Andrew right behind him.

Renee places her chin on her shoulder. Blue hair brushing her cheek. “Kids these days,” she says.

Allison laughs. The smoke isn't stopping.

There are burn marks on the counter, and someone pops out the batteries on the alarm to get it to shut up. A piece of flaming toast goes flying from the kitchen to hallway.

 

-

 

Renee’s eyes looks sleepy in the bathroom.mirror. Toothbrush moving around her mouth lazily. Colgate smeared indelicately on the counter. The shower is running behind her, still cold at six in the morning.

Allison opens up a new bottle of foundation as Renee steps into the shower. The mirror fogs quickly, and she does her makeup without a reference. The window bangs shut above her head. She jumps.

“Morning,” says Renee as she steps out. Water droplets glittering on her hair, the skin of her breasts. The air is warm steam around them.

She doesn't quite get lipstick on her teeth, and they don't quite defog the mirror. The window stays closed.

 

-

 

The bar smells like stale beer and cologne, harsh synthesized bass pumps through the speakers, and Nicky dances like a member of Kidz Bop. Allison pushes her way across the room. The track switches to a new remix of the summer’s big hit.

Renee is standing at the bar. Dan is next to her, sprinkling salt onto Matt’s wrist. A bowl of clumsily sliced limes between them, tequila dripping down his face. Wet spots dotting a Palmetto t-shirt, visible in the flashing lights of the discotheque. Renee poking at the firm skin of an unripe lime.

“Hey.” Kevin, red-faced and sloppy. He pats Allison on the shoulder, pushes his face into her Lululemon tank top.

“Hey,” she says.

“Fuck,” says Kevin. Allison tugs his head away from the space between her breasts. He runs a hand over his face; the chess piece remains unchanged. “Your girl’s doing body shots. I don't - fuck,” he says again, leaning against the column.

Allison nods. Her heart too heavy and light. Renee laughs at something, grasps a lime, and glanced over at her. Kevin pats her on the back again. “Go get 'em,” he says.

The lime looks terrible. Marks from Renee’s nails in green skin. The tequila is worse. Allison licks the line of salt up Renee’s wrist and bites into sour.

“Is that a DNCE remix?” she asks.

Renee laughs, leads her towards the bathroom. The track changes for the third time in as many minutes, and a bead of sweat drips down Allison’s neck.

 

-

 

Matt is leading the foxes in a sing-along in the locker room- _“put some Gatorade in your glass, we just kicked your fucking ass,”_ voice completely wrecked - and Renee turns on the showers and grabs her left wrist. Allison's forearms tense. “No,” says Renee. Voice soft on her cheek. She presses the firm lines of her body against Allison. Tiles cold on Allison’s back, hot steam around them, and warmth of Renee covering her. “You stay here, and we’ll be quiet.”

The steam is starting to fog up the shower tiles. Allison’s knuckles are white around the plastic curtain, and she can feel Renee’s pastel pink nails wrapped around her wrist.

 

-

 

Everyone looked fine during warmups, but once the game starts, they’re shaky and off-kilter. Passes aren’t connecting; balls going anywhere but the goal. One of the Trojan’s shots bounces off Allison’s racquet and goes straight between Andrew’s legs.

The game doesn't get any better from there, and at the halfway mark, the team heads back to the locker room down 2-0. Allison drops her racquet into the pile outside of the court, pushes up her mask, and tells the team, “No more fucking around out there.”

Kevin nods. “We need to do better out there. Concentrate, stop making stupid plays.”

“Play hard,” says Dan. “We can get back into this thing.”

Matt grins. Wraps an arm around Dan - not holding on too hard, Dan’s their only offensive dealer - and rests his other arm on his gear bag.

Everyone leaves Andrew alone. He’s sitting perfectly still, staring at a point in the wall no one wants to be. Hands twitching like he wants to break a racquet.

(Dan reassures some of the freshman that keep looking towards Andrew like a bomb that's about to go off: “Don’t worry, he’s much scarier than he looks.”

Renee sits on the other bench. Allison is pretty sure she’s trying not to laugh.)

 

-

 

The fruit is warm on her tongue, and Renee has her thumb and index finger an inch deep in Allison’s mouth. Taste of summer-ripe strawberries, faint acetone. Half of Renee’s face is pink in the sun, but the wide brimmed hat is covering most of it. Sun beating down on their arms, uncovered legs. Allison thinks about the color her shoulders are going to turn later, red contrasting with the pastel green of her hair.

She licks the rest of the strawberry off of Renee’s fingers. “I’m not made for this farming shit,” she says.

Renee laughs and picks another berry. The dirt under her colorless nails shocking against red strawberry. Drops it into their basket.

“Can we go yet?” Neil asks Dan. Behind him, Andrew is making a face at the strawberry plants. Their basket is less than halfway full.

Allison laughs. Renee loops an arm around her neck, pulls her closer. The basket gets kicked over, and Renee’s lips are soft on the back of her neck.

 

-

 

“You forgot to check out the magazines from the library,” Allison says as soon as Renee tells her to leave a message after the beep. “I need a new _Glamor.”_ She pauses. Re-angles the phone on her neck. There’s a hickey at her jawline, dark purple, broken blood vessels against tan skin. “Call me when you’re at Target. They have the brand of concealer I want.” She hangs up before she starts talking about sex bruises.

 

-

 

The diner is too warm, crowded even at three in the morning. There’s a plate of half-eaten pancakes in front of them. A glass of pulp-free orange juice. The sunburn on Renee’s shoulders is glaringly pink in the harsh lights, and her hands are drumming a gentle pattern on the sticky tabletop. She settles her hands over Allison’s when they go for the check. Allison grabs it anyways. “My turn,” she says. Renee looks away. Pulls apart a jam-stained paper napkin.

The stains from the exploding microwave meal are on both of their shirts, and they still smell like burnt chicken alfredo. Renee’s hands are warm. A piece of fettuccine is stuck to the hem of her shirtsleeve.

 

-

 

She wets the washcloth in the bathroom sink, grabs the chalky bar soap in her left hand, and starts scrubbing at the leggings. Everything is covered in dirt, gravel, spots of blood like stars on the left side. A gash in grey fabric. Tiny rocks slip out of the folds of cloth and down the drain.

She dries off, and her hands feel like ice.

There’s a tube of Neosporin on the counter. Used bandages. Allison grabs the Neosporin, rummages through the medicine cabinet for antiseptic, gauze, and tape, and brings everything to the main room.

Renee is elevating her knee on the green-grey couch. Holding a gossip magazine in her left hand. Looks up. Allison hands her the Neosporin, gauze, mumbles something about septic wounds and the Amazon.

“Thank you,” Renee says. Rubs antiseptic into the gash on her knee. Hisses as it stings.

Allison can feel herself nod in response. Once. Twice. She should leave. She doesn't leave. She sits down next to Renee.

**Author's Note:**

> the kidz bop metaphor is because [this video](https://youtu.be/YaLDZC_Uzqg) exists. i’m SOBBING WHO WOULD DESECRATE PRECIOUS CANADIAN SHAWN MENDES LIKE THIS.
> 
> matt’s gatorade song is a team usa hockey victory song. the full lyrics are as such:
> 
> _Ohhhh momma, don’t you cry!!!!!_   
>  _USA hockey is do or die!!!!!!_   
>  _Take a hockey stick in my hand!!!!!_   
>  _Go on off to a foreign land!!!!_   
>  _Take the Gatorade in your glass!!!_   
>  _WE JUST KICKED YOUR FUCKING ASS!!!!_   
> 
> 
> yeah.
> 
> ALSO: i thought it personally important to note - my gf and i have indeed exploded lean cuisine meals in a microwave oven. only one was chicken alfredo, but it can definitely be done. don't try it. stuff is like cement when it dries.


End file.
